


Bucky's Assessment

by Brumeier



Series: Bite Sized Fic [50]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Emotional Hurt, First Meetings, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre-Slash, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 14:12:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6473287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brumeier/pseuds/Brumeier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>LJ Comment Fic for War and Peace prompt: <i>MCU, Any, Waving the white flag</i></p><p>Bucky is still trying to figure things out for himself when he gets paid a surprise visit. Are Steve's friends there to take him in? Or just get a sense of his mental stability?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bucky's Assessment

When they came – and he knew they would – he expected them to send Romanov. One assassin to another. But they surprised him and sent the archer. 

Mr. Lee’s Lucky Red Wonton was a half hour from closing, which was the time he – _James_ , as he frequently reminded himself – normally came in to start the nightly clean-up. It was easy work, for which he got paid cash, and the owner, Mr. Chao, always gave him some food too. The old guy had been incredibly generous from the moment James had come in for his interview speaking fluent Mandarin. 

He scanned the dining room before he entered it, as he always did, and made Barton immediately even though he was dressed in civvies. They’d never met but James had done his research. Hours spent on public terminals in coffee shops and the public library, putting together a mental dossier on the Avengers. _Not a mission. Not targets. At least not yet._ It was the first time he’d done his own background checks, instead of having the information drilled into him by his handlers.

Barton was sitting with his back to the wall, scanning the room, and the tension in the lines of his body was another indicator that he wasn’t there just for tea and dumplings. 

“Nǐ shēntǐ hǎo ma?” Mr. Chao asked, very carefully approaching James so as not to startle him.

“Wǒ hěn hǎo.” Although just how fine he was remained to be seen.

It would’ve been easy to disappear out the back door and fade into the shadows, which was his first instinct. But it wasn’t what James Buchanan Barnes would do. Fleeing would be tantamount to failure, and he’d had more than enough of that. 

James steeled himself before stepping through the double doors and into the dining room. He was hyper aware of every sound, every movement, as he approached the table in the corner: the busboys clearing tables, the last customers settling their bill, the clink and clatter of dishes and silverware, the gurgle from the decorative saltwater fish tanks. 

Barton watched as he approached, maintaining his deceptively relaxed posture. There was no sign of the quiver of specialty arrows, though he very likely had something concealed on his person; he’d be stupid not to. Of course, anything could be used as a weapon. The furniture, the tableware, the pot of hot tea. Even the table cloth could be quickly wound up and used to strangle someone. 

James stopped a foot away from the table and waited, forcing his metal hand to stay open and not curl into a protective fist. 

“Barnes,” Barton said pleasantly. His tone was relaxed but his eyes were sharp, his muscles tense. He was ready for trouble.

“Why are you here?” He spoke to Barton but had no doubt that he was addressing the Avengers as a whole. The rest of them were undoubtedly close by and listening in. 

“Heard you were in town, thought I’d drop by and see how you’re doing.”

The metal hand clenched reflexively, despite James’ best efforts, drawing Barton’s eye and stiffening him up even more than he already was. “He told you about me.”

Barton’s head tipped minutely to one side, a barely noticeable movement that was an immediate tip-off: the archer was listening to someone speaking through an earbud.

“It was unintentional. He was –”

Before he was even aware of moving, James was bracing himself on Barton’s table and looming over the other man. The wood gave an audible crack under the metal arm. There were only a couple of reasons a Super Soldier, and particularly Steve, would let something slip _unintentionally_ , and none of them were very good.

_Torture. Drugs. Injury._

“Where is he? What happened?” His voice wasn’t steady, and neither was his head. Images of Steve falling from the helicarrier; Steve pulling him out of a lab somewhere; cleaning blood off the face of a much younger Steve after he got in yet another fight. 

“Hey. Stand down, Lefty.”

He reacted without thinking, the metal arm coming up and swinging back to deal with Stark, who’d materialized while James was distracted. _Sloppy work. You will be punished_. But Stark had anticipated him, and caught hold of the arm with the aid of one of his specialized gauntlets, the only piece of the Iron Man armor he was wearing.

He could feel himself slipping, the Asset ready to rear up and reassert control. He was already plotting five moves ahead, knew he could incapacitate Stark and Barton before the others came running to the rescue. _Duck and spin, break the hold, sweep the legs, go for the throat with one hand, use the other to…_

“Líkāi tā!” Mr. Chao burst out of the kitchen, brandishing a small cast iron fry pan. “You leave him alone!”

It was like being doused with cold water. Targets and acceptable civilian casualties turned back into people: the wide-eyed busboys, the couple by the door filming everything with their smart phone, and Steve’s teammates. Not the Winter Soldier, he frantically reminded himself. Not the Asset. _‘You’re a survivor.’_

“Barnes. James Buchanan. Sergeant. 32557038.” Familiar words, and in his head he heard them echo in a slightly different voice, the words slurred. He repeated it over and over, barely aware of Stark letting go of his arm to fend off Mr. Chao, who was swinging for the fences.

_Dank, dripping room. Strapped to a table. So much pain. Can’t they see he’s sick, hurting? But they don’t stop the burning injections, or the strange light that feels like it’s cooking him from the inside out._

_Name, rank and serial number. He holds tight to it, repeats it over and over no matter what questions they ask him. It’s the only thing keeping him in his own head. He would do anything – anything – to get away from the pain. To get away from the room. But not death, not that, because he can’t do that to Steve._

_His eyes sting with tears, his chest aches with every breath, his throat is raw from screaming, but still he whispers that same mantra over and over, so he doesn’t forget who he is. He can’t forget. He won’t._

James blinked away one reality for another, and found himself sitting on the floor, partially hidden beneath Barton’s table, arms wrapped around his knees. The dining room was silent and he froze, not even daring to breathe, as he took a quick inventory of his immediate surroundings. 

The dining room was deserted, but he wasn’t alone. Barton was sitting cross-legged on the floor nearby, not too close, drinking tea and looking completely unflappable.

"That could've gone better," he said. He sounded almost apologetic.

“Did I…?” James couldn’t finish the question, wasn’t sure he even wanted to know the answer.

“You didn’t hurt anyone,” Barton assured him.

James nodded and rested his forehead on his knees. He wouldn’t be able to come back here, he’d have to find a new job. He’d put Mr. Chao and his whole family at risk.

“I’ve been where you are,” Barton said. 

“No. You haven’t.” No-one had, because he’d looked that up online too. Like Captain America, the Winter Soldier had been one of a kind, an experiment never successfully duplicated.

"No. I suppose not. In answer to your earlier question, Steve’s okay. He got hit with something like nitrous oxide, just way more potent. He’s sleeping it off.”

James let out a shuddering breath. Steve was okay, that was all that mattered. And he hadn’t told his friends about James, just like he promised. So many things had changed, but not that. Not Steve.

“Look,” Barton said. “I’m waving the proverbial white flag here. I can’t speak for the others, but I wanted to see how you’re doing.”

“You wanted to assess the situation,” James corrected him, exhaustion showing too plainly in his voice. “See if I’m a danger to the populace.”

“Are you?”

“I don’t know,” James replied. And he didn’t, not really. He’d been doing okay, but what if there was a trigger lurking somewhere in what was left of his brain? The right phrase, the right signal, and maybe he wouldn’t be able to push the Asset back next time.

James heard the clink as Barton set down the dainty teacup. “You know, that’s probably the only answer I’d believe.”

They sat in a not entirely uncomfortable silence for a minute or two, long enough for James to pick out Stark’s voice coming from the kitchen; he sounded like he was losing a game of pai gow. Badly. Steve’s friends hadn’t shown any aggressive intent, which James didn’t understand. Surely they knew he’d almost killed Steve on the helicarrier, and they damn well knew a lot of what he’d done in the service of Hydra. If the shoe had been on the other foot, he’d have ordered an immediate containment.

Maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea.

“What happens now?” James asked. He looked up, looked Barton in the eye. 

“Now I make the offer for you to come to Avengers Tower.”

“Seems a little posh for my tastes.” _You got a smart mouth, punk_ , a phantom voice said in James’ head.

Barton’s mouth quirked up in a half smile. “Yeah, it can be a bit much for me too. But we’ve got top-notch security, and access to an array of doctors. I bet Steve would like to have you close by. He misses you. Plus, Tony’s got a hard-on for your arm.”

James looked down at the metal arm, encased in the sleeve of his black Henley and still wrapped around his legs, as if he’d never seen it before. He didn’t remember when he got it. Had gotten used to the pain that came with having it. Some days he wanted to rip it off because it belonged solely to the Asset, and marked him as less than human.

“If I say no?”

“Then we leave and let you get on with your night. But we’ll be keeping an eye on things. And if you change your mind, you know how to find Steve.”

“He’ll be pissed. That you came here.” James was sure of that, had enough pieces of Steve in his head to predict his reaction to some things.

“Oh, yeah. There’ll be plenty of bitch-face to go around.”

James choked on something that might’ve been a laugh.

As if that had been some sort of signal, Stark came striding out of the kitchen. “Those busboys are cheating thieves, the lot of them.”

Before the double doors swung back, James got a glimpse of Bao and Eddie gleefully counting a wad of cash. He had a moment to bristle at Stark’s words before he heard the amusement in them, which only confused him. 

Stark gave Barton a hand up, but very pointedly kept his distance from James, which was appreciated. He got to his own feet unassisted.

“Don’t worry, Robo Fist. I smoothed things over with your boss, so you don’t have to worry about losing your job. But you ever want to do something more productive than push a vacuum cleaner, you know where to find me.” Stark eyed the metal hand with a decidedly avaricious eye; some of the metal shone through a tear in the sleeve.

“I’ll let you know.”

“You do that. Come on, Katniss. I’ve got things to do.” Stark exited the restaurant without looking back. 

Barton tipped James a two-fingered salute. “Take it easy.”

Then he was gone, too, and James was left standing in the empty dining room, staring at the door. If that had been a test, he could only assume his continued freedom meant that he’d passed.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

**Author's Note:**

>  **AN:** I’m building up to some real Steve/Bucky stuff, I promise. But first I thought Steve’s team might want to scope out the situation, and make their presence known.


End file.
